


Wool-gathering in Stratford

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [190]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:31:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A playful Fourth of July for our lads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wool-gathering in Stratford

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obi1mcgregor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obi1mcgregor/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Nerowill, Emila-Wan, and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting  
> My former betas: Alex, Ula, and Padawan Sue
> 
> Ian and Quinn's bachelor party on August 18, 2011: [Some Enchanted Evening](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4366073)  
>   
> "The play's the thing" - [Twelfth Night](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twelfth_Night)  
>   
> Our lads' trips to Princeton:  
> [A Symposium on Character](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1907907)  
> [Princeton Pleasures](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1953021)  
>   
> Fourth of July in Arcadia:  
> 2004 -- [Independence Day: Let Freedom Ring](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1798048)  
> 2005 -- [Declaration of Independence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1819468)  
> 2006 -- [Meditations on Freedom](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1907862)  
> 2007 -- [An Arcadian Picnic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1953027)  
> 2008 -- [A Dazzling Display](http://www.masterapprentice.org/archive/1/127dazzlingdisplay.html)  
> 2009 -- [Fourth and Maine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4260111)  
> 2010 -- [Two Hundred and Counting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4312143)  
> 2011 -- [Independence Day at Lake Saasta](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4366031)  
> 

Quinn smiled over at Ian.  
  
The last time they'd shared a blanket at an outdoor performance, it had been part of the run-up to their wedding at Luke Chapel in 2011. Monty and their friends had surprised the grooms-to-be by taking them to one of the Concerts in the Park series as the first stop of their bachelor party festivities last August. Hearing Art Garfunkel sing against a background of trees in the sultry twilight was a true standout in that emotional time for Quinn.  
  
Although he still had fond memories of Garfunkel's delicate artistry, he more vividly recalled the warm skin of Ian's arm against his own that night, even though it had happened almost a year ago.  
  
He had to reach out to Ian, just so he could feel his lad's delicious skin again, this time against his fingertips.  
  
As he rubbed the nape of his laddie's neck, his thumb moving in small circles over sweaty freckles, all of Quinn's happy memories of that night in Central Park flashed in his smile -- their friends' teasing, love shining through the playful banter, the soaring music, the intense emotions sparked by their upcoming wedding.  
  
He allowed his fingers to dip below the neckline of Ian's Skyhawks t-shirt, knowing his lad loved caresses to his upper back. In the deepening twilight, he could afford to take a few liberties.  
  
But there was something about being in a public setting with his laddie that Quinn would never take for granted. All of those years of caution he had endured made him savor their ever-increasing openness even more.  
  
Now here they were at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival in Connecticut, celebrating the start of the summertime theater season on the Fourth of July. After the family barbecue at Padua, they'd gotten on Route 15 and hoped for the best. Quinn had been surprised when a traffic jam kicked in just as they entered Connecticut, since he'd figured most people were already at their holiday cookouts. However, roadwork along the way made for a slow crawl.  
  
But now was not the time to think of these quotidian details. Not when he was sitting close enough to Ian to feel his breath whispering over his neck, just as he felt his own sweat cooling in the twilight air. And watching the action bubble up in front of them with his husband chuckling by his side was a real treat. "The play's the thing," as Shakespeare himself had written, and Quinn could not help but agree with him.  
  
They were on the grass a few yards away from the big stage, surrounded by hundreds of other audience members. It was about 8:40 on Wednesday night -- Quinn couldn't quite make out the position of the hands on his watch in the soft dusk -- and the play was almost over.  
  
He and Ian were sitting cross-legged, side by side, on the blue-and-green tartan blanket Ian's Aunt Rosemary had sent them from County Kincardine. He could feel its smooth weave softly nudging against his legs, thanks to the khaki shorts he wore. The blanket had found a home in the trunk of the Audi and accompanied them almost everywhere, both on summer- and winter-time excursions.  
  
The familiar sound of his herven's chuckle brought Quinn back to the here and now, fresh from his wool-gathering. He and Ian were enjoying a rollicking rendition of "Twelfth Night," one of the Bard's more effervescent comedies, written to cap the Christmas holiday festivities in the early 1600s.  
  
The winsome cast was almost captivating enough to earn Quinn's complete attention -- Viola, an earnest newcomer to the land of Illyria; Duke Orsino, who falls in love with her, despite her masculine disguise; Countess Olivia, who falls for her because of this disguise; Malvolio, Olivia's steward, played with just the right touch of self-important buffoonery.  
  
In his professional capacity, Quinn appreciated all of Shakespeare's 'in-jokes,' relishing the fact that female characters had been played by men in Elizabethan England. This gave an extra kick both to the role of Viola, a woman who looked like her brother's twin, and the Duke, who fell in love with her/him, regardless of perceived gender.  
  
While he watched the current action with half an eye, Quinn recalled seeing a modern rendition of the play, called "Do Your Own Thing," on a 9th grade field trip with his classmates. Their English class had gone to The McCarter Theater in Princeton, his first view of the campus he was to visit later with his lad for a symposium on Mary Renault's "The Charioteer." A few months after the conference, he had been fortunate enough to return to the McCarter itself -- with Ian's presence making all the difference -- for a rousing performance of "The H.M.S. Pinafore" by Gilbert and Sullivan.  
  
He looked over at Ian, delighted to discover that he had realized both the premise and promise of the play and 'done his own thing' since he'd met his laddie.  
  
When he was first in Princeton in the mid-'80s, his English teacher, an aging hippie, had taken the play's open-minded lessons to heart and tried to impart them to his students. Experiencing this concept of freedom at such an early age had helped Quinn deal with his own burgeoning desires, in a sense preparing him for his relationship with Ian.  
  
Unfortunately, he'd also gotten an early taste of dating pressure from a classmate of his. Allison Santellini had made a point of sitting by his side on the bus to University Place in Princeton, and again for the play itself. He still could feel the phantom touch of her small hand perched possessively on his forearm. He had chivalrously shared half of his sandwich with her during intermission, which encouraged her all the more.  
  
Quinn had to look down to reassure himself that it was his lad's hand on his arm when he resurfaced from his musings. Ian gave him a lazy grin, as if he knew Quinn had been far, far away.  
  
Apparently, Ian was also grinning at Quinn's impeccable timing, since Quinn could tell by the appearance of the court jester, Feste, that the play was all but over.  
  
The jester sang, "The rain it raineth every day," and the curtains closed with a swoosh.  
  
"Twelfth Night" had just ended, and the applause, amid multiple curtain calls, brought Quinn completely back to Earth.  
  
He gave a huge yawn. "The fireworks won't start for another half an hour, laddie. Let's walk around the grounds a bit -- I feel like a pretzel." His crinkles came out to play.  
  
"Yeah. It looks like you got stuck on the last form of The Rainbow Kata." Ian chuckled, eyeing him up and down, especially up. He rose to stretch his legs and pulled a grateful Quinn to his feet to stand by his side.  
  
They strolled around the margins of the lawn dotted with the colorful blankets of other theater-goers. Even though it had been a hot summer day, the temperature was falling to a pleasant coolness now. Colored lights were spaced every few feet along the perimeter of the clearing for safety, as were citronella candles, and gave a festive feel to the dusk surrounding them.  
  
"Would you like something to eat, lad?" asked Quinn, throwing his arm around his herven's shoulder.  
  
Ian nodded. "Sounds good. Must've finished that burger you made me at least five hours ago."  
  
Quinn grinned. His family always asked him to do the grilling for their barbecues, since he was famous for his succulent hamburgers.  
  
Parti-colored tents lined the grounds, with an assortment of food and merchandise for sale. T-shirts with Shakespeare's picture, Stratford mugs, and Globe Theatre refrigerator magnets -- all seemed especially popular. The cleverly named 'Merchant of Venice' booth sold tote bags with 'The Bard is in' printed on both sides.  
  
There was a lot of delicious food available -- fruit, sandwiches, frozen treats, and pastries. Ian chose two scoops of peppermint ice cream, while Quinn went for a slice of apple pie. A clearing in the nearby grove of trees was scattered with picnic tables, almost all already taken.  
  
Quinn and Ian sat down on redwood benches at the fringe of the clearing and started to eat their treats.  
  
Quinn said, "I wish they sold British specialties here, too, like bangers and mash, fish and chips, or meat pasties."  
  
"Good idea! A full-on Brit immersion," said Ian with relish.  
  
"Of course, it would be a perfect fit with the Shakespeare theme, but given today's date, maybe it's not the best timing," Quinn said wryly.  
  
Ian's laughter brightened the evening around them. "But at least your apple pie is the perfect choice for the Fourth of July," he quipped, as he darted his spoon in for a taste of the cinnamon crumb crust.  
  
"Still poaching my desserts, I see," Quinn drawled, pleasure gleaming in his blue eyes.  
  
"Always," Ian said, infusing the word with infinite tenderness.  
  
A sycamore leaf falling into Ian's hair reminded Quinn of one of the most moving scenes in Renault's "The Charioteer," and he reached over to brush the leaf away from his summer-gold strands with all of the reverence Laurie had felt when he was in 'Limbo' with Andrew.  
  
"Reminds me of my days in the Cub Scouts," said Ian as he sat at the redwood table, tracing the names scored into it with his forefinger. "We used to have the best picnics when we went camping."  
  
Quinn nudged Ian's knee with his own. "Ah, yes. Scouting was where you learned some 'Jedi skills' before you had me to mentor you the rest of the way." He gave Ian a crooked grin.  
  
Ian grinned back, but even in the dim light, Quinn could tell that his laddie's grin was half-hearted.  
  
Quinn knew this was a bittersweet subject for his lad and tried to lighten his mood. Ian had been in scouting for most of his childhood, following in Monty's footsteps. He had progressed from Cub Scout to Boy Scout, and even attained the coveted rank of Eagle Scout just before he'd gone to Georgeton.  
  
However, in recent years, they'd been hearing about the group's policies against accepting LGBT people as both scouts and scoutmasters. These attitudes hadn't been an issue during Ian's day, since he hadn't even known about them and he'd been years away from coming out, but they dismayed him now.  
  
How could an organization to which Ian had devoted so much of his youth treat folks this way?  
  
Sighing, Quinn patted Ian's hand, while his fingers continued their traceries over the table. He knew there was nothing he could say that would change the situation, so he changed the subject instead.  
  
"The fireworks are about to start. Would you rather watch them here or back at our blanket?" Quinn asked.  
  
"Gotta go for the tartan," said Ian, a faint burr coloring his words.  
  
They got up and threw their trash away, then ambled to their blanket just as the first comets sizzled into the sky. Ah, this was the perfect way to cap their Fourth of July, Quinn thought, as red, white, and blue dazzled the air above them. Almost as dazzling as the sparkle in his lad's eyes.  
  
Quinn kissed his husband, right there on the blanket, with hundreds of other revelers on the grass around them. He had shared kisses with Ian in front of their family and friends, but this was the first time he had ever done so surrounded by total strangers.  
  
Talk about freedom!  
  
Ian's natural spark seemed to power the fireworks, at least to Quinn's overheated senses. He lookedup to see green and blue Roman candles igniting the sky, his own smile every bit as incandescent. How fitting that Connecticut was a marriage-equality state.  
  
There was no better way to celebrate Independence Day.


End file.
